by Seb Spence
“Good, we’re up to full strength now,” Cunningham commented, “and not before time – we’re going to need every man we have.”
#
The platoon running down the loch side were by now half way to the promontory. It was at that point – at the apex of the bend – that the Brandenburgers opened up, raking the two columns with their machine gun and automatic weapons. There was practically no cover at that location and most of the Morays were cut down. Some of those on the side of the road nearer the hill managed to dive onto the verge, where they pressed their bodies to the ground and availed themselves of the limited protection offered by the causeway, which was raised just enough to conceal them from the Germans. A few of those on the other side of the road were able to leap down onto the beach and took cover behind the shallow grassy bank that bordered its top edge. But these survivors on the beach were now pinned down, for there were gaps in the bank further along and any attempt to crawl forward towards the promontory would result in them becoming exposed to fire and picked off.
As soon as they heard the staccato sound of the machine gun, Minton and Cunningham instinctively threw themselves down on the ground. Bitter experiences in the trenches had ingrained in them a respect for this weapon.
“Take cover!” Minton yelled out to the troops who had remained behind with the lorries. It was as well he did, for the German machine gunner, having dealt with the men advancing down the track, turned his attention to the rest of the detachment, which was well within the 1000-yard range of his weapon. However, by the time he swung his machine gun round, his potential targets had dived for cover behind the lorries, or into the deep, dried-out ditch that ran along the far side of the road. All he was able to do was rake the line of stationary vehicles, bursting tyres and shattering windscreens.
“Return fire!” Cunningham bellowed out above the din of the machine gun, hoping to provide a covering fusillade for the troops trapped on the beach. Immediately, the men behind the lorries and in the ditch began firing their rifles at the German position. The sound of gunfire echoed around the hills.
“Well, I think we know where Cobalt is now,” Cunningham declared grimly to Minton. “Perhaps we won’t need the spotter plane after all. Come, we’d better return to the men.”
The two officers crawled back through the long grass until they were behind the now bullet-ridden staff car. Minton opened the front passenger door and pulled out from the glove compartment a pair of field glasses he had put there earlier. Crouching, he moved to the front of the car and cautiously peered round the bonnet. He raised the field glasses to his eyes and scanned the promontory. He realised that the return fire coming from the Morays would not be very effective, for the Germans were well hidden and, apart from occasional muzzle flashes on the hillside, there was nothing to indicate where their positions were.
“The men don’t have much to aim out,” he told Cunningham. “The Germans have concealed themselves in positions near the ridge. It’s difficult to spot exactly where.”
“We need to get the men closer, then.”
Minton swung the field glasses round slightly to his left and inspected the hill that ran down the side of the loch towards the promontory. It was clearly unscalable at this side. He lowered the glasses and pulled towards him their map, which was now lying on the ground next to the staff car, having been blown there by the blast when Vaughan’s three-tonner blew up.
“That hill beside the loch is not as steep on the far side,” he told Cunningham, after a brief examination of the map. “We should send a platoon round the back of the hill and tell them to scale it from there – if we can get men on its summit, we can fire down on the Germans and pick them off. It will take a while though: I estimate it will take at least twenty minutes for the men to reach the summit from here.”
“Yes, that’s a good plan, Minton. We’ll get Major Simmons to send one of his platoons up there. They need to do it without drawing attention to themselves, so that they can surprise the Germans. I’ll also order another of his platoons to go down the other side of the loch – they can go round its far end and come up behind the Germans, cutting off their line of retreat.” Cunningham looked along the road, expecting to see the lorries from Callander pulled up behind the others, but there was no sign of them. “Where the devil is Simmons?”
#
After the rifle-grenade incident by Loch Lubnaig, Major Simmons had swapped vehicles and was now riding in the cab of the lorry that was leading the Callander convoy. It occurred to him that the Germans might drop off some of their men to mount an ambush, and accordingly he instructed his driver to proceed cautiously. On the winding road to Loch Carran, the driver was also told to limit his speed in order to avoid colliding with the trees and stone dykes that lined it. Because of this measured progress, and also having to deal with the aftermath of the grenade attack, the convoy had fallen more than ten minutes behind General Cunningham’s car.
As they emerged from the wood near the end of the road to Loch Carran, Simmons had a clear view of its eastern shore and was able to take in the situation there. His attention was immediately drawn to the line of stationary vehicles that was visible three hundred yards away before a bridge – or at least, what appeared to be the remains of a bridge – and he was alarmed to see blazing wrecks in its vicinity. Seconds later, a machine gun opened up somewhere in the distance, and Simmons realised from the high rate of fire that it must be a German MG 34; he recognised instantly that his convoy was driving into a firefight. This was a dangerous situation, for he knew that troops debussing from transport were extremely vulnerable. The closer they got to the machine gun, the greater the threat. It could turn into a massacre.
He noted that running all the way down the left-hand side of the road was a wide dried-out ditch. It was at least three feet deep and formed a ready-made trench. The idea occurred to him that his men could advance the last few hundred yards to the bridge in relative safety by going on foot and using the cover of the ditch. Though this tactic would delay them from linking up with Cunningham’s men by a few minutes, Simmons felt it was justified. Consequently, he immediately halted the convoy and ordered the men to get down from the lorries and proceed on foot along the ditch.
Lieutenant MacGregor was in the cab of the second lorry and got out as soon as Simmons gave the order. He ran round to the back to chivvy his troops along.
“At the double, men! Take cover in the ditch! We’re likely to come under fire at any moment.”
Barton and Moncur were the last to jump down. “What’s going on?” Barton asked, hearing the gunfire in the distance. He was apprehensive, not for his own safety but for Grace’s. Remembering Cunningham’s rules of engagement were basically shoot-to-kill, he realised that if the shooting had started in earnest, there was a possibility Grace might get caught up in it.
“Sounds as if we’ve run the Germans to earth,” MacGregor replied. “My guess is, that’s their machine gun that you can hear. Things are going to turn nasty.”
This did not allay Barton’s fears. He and Bronx watched the Morays as they scrabbled down into the ditch and started to make their way along it, crouching as they went.
“Listen,” MacGregor continued, “you two should probably stay back here with the lorries – you’re not trained for this sort of thing.”
“And what sort of thing is that?” Moncur asked dryly. “Crawling around in ditches?”
“What my learned colleague is trying to say,” Barton interjected quickly, “is that you don’t have to worry about us – we’ll keep out of the way, and we can look after ourselves. For Miss Harrison’s sake, we have to be where the action is. You heard what General Cunningham said at the briefing – saving Miss Harrison is not his main priority. If we’re not there to look out for her, nobody else will.”
MacGregor saw his point. He could also see that both men were determined and, short of putting them under armed guard, there was no way he could prevent them from coming. He realise
d, too, that there was no time to remonstrate with them; reluctantly, he agreed to Barton’s request.
The three of them jumped down into the ditch and made their way as quickly as they could towards the troops near the bridge.
#
Major Simmons clambered up the side of the ditch and joined Cunningham and Minton, who were still taking cover behind their staff car.
“Simmons, I’m relieved you’ve come at last,” Cunningham said, reprovingly. “As you can see, things aren’t going too well. We’ve lost two vehicles and most of a platoon in the time it’s taken you to get here.” He passed him the field glasses. “Take a look for yourself, but be careful –
the Germans are shooting at anything that moves. They’re dug in along the ridge of that promontory two hundred yards down the loch. Storming the position from the road alone isn’t going to work.”
Simmons raised his head cautiously above the bonnet and looked through the field glasses, first at the terrain along the ridge and then at the bodies on the road by the loch.
“Looks as if we’re getting a pasting,” he replied, ducking down behind the bonnet as another volley of shots rang out from the German positions. “I don’t think there’s much we can do at the moment – we don’t have the right kit. Our men only have rifles.” A note of reproach entered his voice: “After all, we were told we were chasing two or three lightly armed civilians – no one said we would be up against a squad of heavily armed, professional assault troops with a machine gun. We need grenades, mortars and, preferably, armoured support. I assume this has been sent for?”
The query was addressed to Cunningham, but he ignored it, as well as the implied criticism in the major’s remarks. “We don’t have time to wait – we need to deal with them before Cobalt has a chance to slip away to the cover of the hills. This is what must be done: first, send one of your platoons covertly round the back of the hill on the left over there and get them to scale it from the far side. Let’s identify them as ‘Red Section’. Once they’re at the top, they’ll be able to fire down on the Germans.
“At the same time, send a second platoon – ‘Blue Section’ – down the other side of the loch so that they can go round the far end and cut off the Germans’ line of retreat.
“Finally, you need to order a third platoon – ‘White Section’ – to advance under cover along the beach by the road, and get them to move up as close as they can to the promontory. They can then rush the German positions when the first platoon starts firing from the summit of the hill. Send me a radio operator with a portable transceiver set and make sure each platoon has one as well. I’ll coordinate things from here.”
“With respect, sir, it could be suicidal going along the beach – there’s very little cover. And rushing the machine gun, even with close supporting fire from above, is extremely risky. The German gunners might not be visible from the summit.”
“Major! You will carry out your orders. It’s a risk we’ll have to take. We can’t jeopardise this operation over a few casualties. A coordinated attack from two directions will have a much better chance of succeeding.”
Without replying, Simmons turned and then darted over to the cover of the first lorry, where Barton, Moncur and MacGregor were now taking shelter. He looked furious.
“Come on, MacGregor, you heard the General,” he said angrily. “We need to organise the men.” With that, he scrambled down into the ditch and began to make his way back to where the Morays from the Callander convoy were waiting.
“I think your guvnor’s in a bit of a mood,” Moncur observed.
“I’m not surprised. That’s an MG 34 the Germans are firing – it can spit out 900 rounds a minute.” Saying this, MacGregor slid down into the ditch and was about to set off along it, when he turned and looked up at them: “Take care, you two – don’t do anything daft.”
8.
10.13 – 10.29hrs: South shore of Loch Carran
It seemed to Grace that Vivian Adair had been pointing the Walther at her for some time, though in reality less than a minute had passed since the disappearance of the papers had been discovered. She expected her to pull the trigger at any moment but, immobilised by the injured ankle, Grace could do nothing to defend herself. Her only option was to try to talk her way out of the predicament.
She was weighing up how best to approach this, when she was startled by a sudden noise and for a terrifying instant thought it was the Walther going off. A few seconds passed before it registered with her that the sound had come from the direction of the promontory. It stopped briefly, then started again and continued intermittently. Slowly it dawned on her that she was hearing long, rapid-fire bursts from a machine gun.
Although the gunfire had startled Grace, it had had no effect on Vivian Adair, who, without moving a muscle, continued to cover her with the Walther. As she stared down impassively at Grace, there was a look of intense concentration on her face.
“I didn’t take the papers, I swear,” Grace declared earnestly. “I haven’t been anywhere near the case since I gave it to you.” There was a ring of sincerity about her protestations, as well there might be for she was indeed telling the truth: she had not taken the papers – although she did know where they were.
The sound of the machine gun in the distance was now joined by the crack of rifle fire, and Grace looked back towards the promontory. She wondered what carnage was unfolding there. She turned again and looked up at Vivian Adair, who continued to cover her and seemed lost in thought.
Vivian slowly lowered her automatic. “I’m sorry, Grace – for a moment I thought it must have been you, but on reflection I see you’re right – it couldn’t have been.” She spoke slowly and deliberately as she explained to Grace the train of logic that had led her to this conclusion. “From the time you gave me the briefcase until now, it has not been out of my sight – apart from when we were together in the farmhouse kitchen last night, at which point it was upstairs in the bedroom. You were with me all the time, so it could not have been you who took the papers. The only people who could have got to the case were the two Brandenburgers who went up to use the sink in the bathroom – remember, the man with the injured hand and the one who took him upstairs to tend to it?”
“Yes,” Grace agreed, relieved, “now that you mention it, I do recall the two of them going upstairs.”
“They were up there for easily ten minutes – more than enough time for one of them to pick the lock on the briefcase and remove the contents. My guess is they’ve passed the papers on to Hahn. That’s probably why Drechsler sent him along with us. The Brandenburg Regiment is an arm of the Abwehr – Hahn’s not here to escort us: he’s here to make sure the papers go to the Abwehr and not the SD. I’m willing to bet he’s going to try and come with me to the submarine – perhaps he is even planning to get to it instead of me.”
This was a promising development, Grace thought. It was what she hoped would happen – if there were discord and suspicion in the group, they could end up fighting amongst themselves, which would surely hasten the end.
“What will you do?” Grace asked.
Vivian Adair shrugged. “To be honest, it doesn’t really matter that much. I had a hunch something like this would happen, although I expected it would be Elliott who double-crossed me. So, as a precaution, I took out some insurance: I microfilmed the most important documents and have kept the film on me at all times. Whatever happens, I will have something to show my controllers when I get back to Berlin. I’m pretty sure they will be satisfied with what I’ve got.”
“Get back to Berlin?” Grace thought – this did not seem like a realistic option to her at that moment. As if to underline this, from the head of the loch, there now came the distant sound of more heavy vehicles approaching. Automatically, they both turned towards the source of the sound, but, as before, their view of the end of the loch was obstructed by the promontory, and they were unable to see what was happening.
Grace guessed it was more troops a
rriving. Surely, she reasoned, Drechsler’s men could not hold out much longer against the army, who, with these latest reinforcements, must heavily outnumber them by now. Doubtless, it would all be over soon: the Brandenbergers would be overwhelmed, and then the army would come after Vivian Adair and the other three. Almost certainly, she told herself, the security forces would be able to track them down in the hills. She felt confident that Vivian and her associates would never get to the submarine now, for Callander, Grace knew, must be forty or fifty miles inland: it would take days for them to walk across the hills to the coast, and they would surely be picked up long before they got there.
For some time they waited in silence, Grace trying to envisage how the endgame might play out, and Vivian Adair, lost in thought, staring across the loch. Suddenly, a figure came running around the headland at the western end of the bay. Grace guessed from the camouflage uniform and helmet that it was Hahn. She looked at her watch: it was nearly ten-thirty.
In a minute or so, Hahn had reached them. “It’s all clear ahead,” he announced. “Come, Frau Schönbeck, there is little time. We can see from the end of the loch that the Tommies have hundreds of men now. Hauptmann Drechsler’s position may soon be overrun.”
“I’m not leaving without Grace. She still can’t walk.”
“Of course. That’s why we are going to use that boat.” As he said this, Hahn pointed towards the rowing boat tied to the end of the jetty. Without waiting for a response, he bent down and effortlessly scooped up Grace in his arms. He then began to run with her towards the jetty, followed by Vivian Adair.
9.
10.19 – 10.38 hrs: Head and south shore of Loch Carran
As soon as Simmons and MacGregor had set off, Minton dashed from the protection of the staff car across to the nearby lorry behind which Barton and Moncur were sheltering.
